Dear John
by SerpentMinded13
Summary: "Miracles do not happen twice, dear John."


**A/N:** _This was inspired by a poem I found on Tumblr that I really liked and I thought that it would make a great Sherlock one-shot. Reviews are welcome :). Thanks._

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Dear John,

I always knew that I was alone and I learnt to accept that a long time ago.

Until you came. And my synapses never worked so slow before, and my eyes never watched a person's movements with so much attention. And I've never seen someone so special, so true to others and to themselves, so loyal…

You got me, but I knew that our time togheter was short; that's what enemies do. They tear the ones you love apart from you and you have to run and play hide and seek until the bloody psychopath gets tired of their own fake game. But who am I to call people such names? I am a sociopath; I have no friends. But oh, how wrong I am; I only have you. Or used to have, that's for sure.

I wanted you to be the only one to watch my fall; I wanted you to be the only person to watch the stage I performed onto for people stronger than me. I was weak and afraid and pretended to be a fake just to save you. In the end, those damned feelings got to me. But what really touched me was the fact that you stood there and watched as I made my way to the final act. You know what they say, _finite coronam opus_, and I hoped that my own end would be a great one. Was it? I don't know; I only know that they wrote about that in papers and that Mrs. Hudson cried and that you went back to that therapist you were seeing before you moved in at 221 B. But life went on for all of you, and you know that better than I do.

I thought you'd wait; I thought you'd want me back and we would be just what people thought we were all these years, that we would eventually break the ice. That _you _would break the ice since my incapability of maintaining social relationships is well-known by everyone. I guess you walking around and screaming "I'm not gay" was a serious thing but I could swear that there were moments when I saw _so much more _in those eyes. Those eyes that have been the subject of my fascination since day one, those eyes that can change as the weather, those eyes that were the mirror of such a noble soul that I wished I could embrace.

And I fell, dear John; I fell off that building and you kneeled down next to "my" dead body and you attented the funeral and you visited the grave and you said that you "owed me _so much_". Yes, John, you owe me feelings; the feelings that were born into my deserted sould, the feelings that kept me going all these years, like running in the desert, praying to find just a drop of water to heal for one second at least a tiny bit of your huge pain, knowing that there is plenty of water at the end of your marathon. I knew that I attended this marathon just for you, that I needed to know that you were safe.

I knew it's been a tough time, but I never expected to be welcomed home just this way.

The moment I saw Mary Morstan I knew that you were serious about her and my heart got blocked in my throat; I prayed to forget her name and her existence but I couldn't. You were no longer living with me and that hurt. I felt betrayed and used and…abused. And I know it is a bit selfish of me to say that since _I _used _you _all these years and _I _abused your feelings and made you be depressive and that _she _saved you and not _me_. That was the worst part; you no longer considered me a hero, dear John, and I felt like my main purpose in this world was gone. I have never acknowledged before just how much I needed to hear nice words from _you_. But now there was no longer that John next to me, he no longer had the blog, but he had a fiancée and that hurt.

And I fell, dear John. I fell for you and you took a step back because of me and you weren't able to catch me in your arms. And here I lay with my chest wide open, the remnants of my feelings rising from between my bones for the whole world to see. I'm not even ashamed because I'm _dead_, dear John; I'm a _ghost_. My body is just an object for you to realize just how _damaging _feelings are, you, the one human being that taught _me_ how to feel, the one human being I _truly _cared about.

And I could do it all over again and this time I would truly jump off that building to prove you something, to prove you that Jesus really died for his people just like I could die for you because He _loved _them the same _mad _way that _I _love _you_. I would kill myself just so that I could make you throw away those prejudices of yours, just to tear your sweaters to pieces, just to burn your memory that's been tattooed on my skin, to make you see me as a _human being_. I know that you said that I'm the most human human being but you still saw me as a demi-god.

Here I lay with my bones barely hanging onto my skin, with your picture crumpled in my pale hand, your eyes watching me from afar, thinking that I will come back from the dead again.

Miracles do not happen twice, dear John.


End file.
